Castiel hadn't found school a challenge even through a cloud of weed smoke, and now smoke free at Solomon, lessons were almost torturous with their levels of monotony. Their teachers went at the pace of the slowest member of the class, and boy, was the slowest member slow.

Castiel wasn't the only one showing signs of frustration three weeks into the semester. Sam and a friend of his, Ash, had looks of perpetual boredom plastered to their faces during study hall, having finished all their work days beforehand, while others were still being tutored on topics they struggled with.

Sam's irritation seemed to have spread to Dean, too. Most nights back in their dorm, Castiel would be sat on his bed with a book, while Dean paced back and forth and rattled on about how Sam was a smart kid, could do anything if he put his mind to it, and instead was stuck here with these "mentally deficient wannabe-dropouts who couldn't tell their rights from their lefts."

For the most part, Castiel let him vent. 'No questions, no problems' was the rule they had established in the terms of their friendship, if you could call it that. They were comfortable in each other's presence, but Castiel didn't trust Dean, and Dean didn't trust Castiel – or Cas, as he now called him.

The nickname had been made official on the second day of Castiel's stay at Solomon.

It was breakfast, and Victor had asked Dean how it felt not sharing a room with his kid brother anymore.

"It's great, actually. Cas is quiet enough. Finally, after fifteen years, I am free of Sammy's god-awful snoring," Dean joked, cramming toast into his mouth, but Castiel thought he looked a little wary.

"Cas?" Sam pounced on the slip instantly, eyeing Dean with a strange expression on his face.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged, crumbs spraying from his mouth as he spoke around his half-chewed breakfast, "Castiel's kind of a mouthful, not to mention weird." he looked at Castiel apologetically.

"Speaking of mouthfuls..." Sam sighed, giving Dean a disparaging look. Dean proceeded to give his brother a graphic viewing of the contents of his mouth. Sam winced and muttered something that sounded like "Neanderthal". Victor snorted into his cup of coffee.

Cas was okay, Dean decided. Reserved, and a little odd, with his long stares and drawn out silences, mostly choosing not to speak unless directly addressed. He was blunt, with a tendency to be sarcastic and snappish when confronted by anything he deemed to be bordering stupidity and pointless activity. However, he was beginning to show a different side around Sam, something in him coming alive whenever they got into discussions about literature, history, philosophy. Sam seemed to be enjoying Castiel's company, too, having spent far too long at this school without another nerd like himself to talk to. Sometimes Dean would go for walks around the grounds at night, leaving Sam and Cas to talk in the dorm about things that were far beyond his pay grade.

The night was quiet, and still. Wisps of cloud drifted across the stars, and the trees stood silhouetted in silver from the half-risen moon sat behind them, lazily crawling its way upwards into the sky. Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, gaze flicking up to the dormitory window again, every overly anxious instinct telling him to go back, not to leave Sam by himself. Dean had spent the past few weeks with constant worry knotted in his gut, panic rearing up and threatening to choke him whenever he woke up in the middle of the night to find that Sam wasn't in there, sleeping in the next bed. He knew it was stupid; Cas wasn't going to do anything to Sam, and he trusted Victor, even though it had taken months to be able to reach that point, but he couldn't help it; after everything, he wasn't just going to let his guard down.

Which is precisely what he did.

Something caught him by the collar of coat and slammed him into the wall. His head cracked against brick and he gasped, winded, vision fading around the edges.

"Evening, Dean-o," a voice drawled next to his ear, like dripping tar, noxious and thick. He could feel an arm pushed to the base of his throat, keeping him in place lest he be choked. Another hand kept his free arm pinned to the wall by his wrist; Dean's other arm was firmly trapped behind his back.

"Ungh," Dean groaned, trying to clear his head, "Alistair. I don't know about you, but my mother always taught me that the greeting goesbefore the physical assault."

Alistair chuckled, the sound deep and more sinister than any sound a seventeen year old should have been able to make, "Dean, Dean, Dean. All bark and no bite, as per usual of course. I'm glad to see nothing's changed since our last little soirée. Did you miss me?"

"Not particularly. I had dreams of beating your skull in to keep me warm at night in your absence."

Alistair laughed again, throwing his head back in mirth, light from the school's windows throwing eerie shadows across his face, making it look gaunt, hollowed out. The arm pressed more firmly into his throat. "Grasshopper, how do you come up with these things? It's beautiful, truly it is, this little repartee we've got going on here."

"I can't say I'm enjoying it quite as much as you are."

Alistair smirked. "You've been avoiding me lately, Dean. I have to say, I'm incredibly hurt."

"And I wonder why I've been doing that," Dean coughed past the pressure on his throat that was beginning to choke him.

"You know, I did some research on you over the summer. What I could, at least. Didn't find much, unfortunately, though that could have been down to the fact that the research facilities at Juvenile Detention summer camp are limited at best." Jesus, this guy talked a lot.

"Skip the speech and cut to the chase, Bechtel. You don't want me passing out on you while you're still talking out of your ass, do you?" he wheezed, praying for Alistair to let off slightly as his brain began to scream for oxygen, his head throbbing where he'd hit it, and distantly, the tips of his fingers tingling from the too tight grip around his wrist.

"As you wish, Grasshopper. So, as I was researching, I stumbled across a lovely little obit, for a man called John Winchester. Your daddy, no?" Dean glowered murderously at the taller boy. "Hmm, yes, I thought so," Alistair continued. "So yes, John Winchester, died in a car crash three years ago, am I correct? And mommy dearest has been in the ground for years-"

If Dean had had enough oxygen left he would have said something, but as it was all he was able to do was emit a low growl, jerking uselessly against Alistair's hold on him.

"But that's funny, see, because you and little Sammy – or not so little anymore, I should say; that kid is growing fast - only came here a year ago. So who sent you to this place then, and why?" Dean absently wished he would stop with the endless rhetoricals. "What did you do, Dean?"

Alistair let the pressure of Dean's throat slightly, and he gasped, pulling as much oxygen into his lungs as possible. "Go to hell," he rasped.

Alistair leant in, lips brushing Dean's ear slightly as he flinched away from the contact, disgusted. "Already been." The arm pushed down again, cutting off his air fully, and black splotches started appear over his vision. He could hear blood pounding in his ears, feel it matting his hair together at the back of his head, and prayed that he would pass out soon.

Light suddenly filled the courtyard. Dean and Alistair were still held in shadow, out of the view of the person who opened the door, silhouette framed against the light from inside. They crossed the courtyard and disappeared into another building.

Alistair let go of Dean and he fell heavily to the ground, pulling in harsh breaths as the world around him swam.

"Until next time, Dean. I'm enjoying this little guessing game of ours."

Dean didn't watch Alistair leave, too busy trying to steady himself from the light-headedness he got from from having very little oxygen to far too much. He lay on the ground for several minutes, head cradled in his arms, until he felt ready to get up.

He leant heavily against the wall, reaching up to gingerly feel the gash at the back of his head. Blood, lots of it, but head wounds always bled a lot; it throbbed like a motherfucker, but he'd live. He pulled his hood up to cover the damage, and unsteadily made his way inside, heading for the showers.

Dean didn't let his mind wander back to the courtyard and Alistair's words as the water ran over him, getting steadily colder; he'd save that problem for the morning. He washed carefully, cleaning around the cut and hoping it wouldn't continue to bleed in the night; the last thing he needed was for Castiel to wake up to find him asleep on a blood soaked pillow.

Eventually he shut off the water, feeling slightly more together, and having thrown on his clothes once more, headed back to the dorm. Sam was gone and Cas was dead to the world, breathing deep and slow. That was one less thing to worry about then.

Castiel fell quickly into a routine of get up, breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, "evening activities", dinner, sleep, repeat. Routines were good. They kept his mind from wandering back to Pontiac, to drugs and family and half a million fuck ups and mistakes. When Dean wasn't pissed about something, it was quiet in their room, Cas working or reading, Dean doing similarly. Once, Dean had asked Cas what music he liked.

Cas looked up from his book, Dante's Inferno. "I don't listen to music."

Dean gawked at him, "You're kidding, right?"

Cas shook his head. "No. I stopped when-" he paused.

Dean looked confused for a moment, then realised that Cas wasn't going to finish his sentence. He nodded slowly. "So what did you listen to before?"

Cas lowered his eyes from Dean's, letting him know that this wasn't a conversation he was willing to continue. His roommate went quiet. After a while Dean said, "I'm into all the old classics. You know, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Motörhead, that kind of thing."

Castiel honestly had very little interest in Dean's music taste, but he wasn't familiar with the works of the bands he mentioned, and Dean so rarely talked about anything personal, and even less so with such fervour, that Cas set aside his book to watch him chat animatedly about the age of classic rock and how music hasn't been quite the same since. As he spoke, his hands drummed excitedly on his knees and his sleeve pulled up slightly, revealing a purplish ring around his wrist, but then it was gone again, and Castiel wondered if it had really been what he could have sworn it looked like, or whether it was just a trick of the light.

Miss Mills watched the boy sat opposite to her with interest as he stared out of the window, a look of concentration etched onto his face, hands folded in his lap. She hadn't been able to get much out of Castiel, yet. He attended each one of their meetings, but as with many of the students she was assigned to, he was reluctant to talk about anything personal. He spoke in a soft, sure voice of his studies, how he felt the pace was going too slowly for him, how he wished there were more books around, having almost finished the few he'd brought with him. Miss Mills said she would look into providing ones more suited to his tastes, and Castiel seemed genuinely grateful.

Miss Mills had noted how Castiel's behaviour seemed to change between being inside her office and being outside in the school corridors and the cafeteria. With the boys she most often saw him with, Dean Winchester, his brother Sam and Sam's roommate Victor, he would be brash, with a dry sense of humour, but he never seemed to shake his reserved manner, and would always seem detached from the conversation to a certain degree. In their sessions he seemed to be almost entirely focused on the conversation, but he was guarded, wary, and the counsellor did her best to tread around their topics of conversation carefully, treating him like an animal not to be scared off.

Unfortunately, today, she would have to start testing the waters a bit.

"So, Castiel, how about we talk about your family?"

Castiel's eyes dropped to his hands curled in his lap and then up to her, gaze clear and slightly unnerving.

"What about them?"

"Tell me about them. What are their names, how old are they, what are their jobs, that kind of thing."

Castiel hesitated, looking uncertain. "I have a mother and a father. They are Biblical scholars at the University of Chicago. I have an older brother, Raphael, who's a lawyer, and a sister, Hester, who's a barrister. I have a younger brother."

"And what's his name?"

Castiel's eyes dropped briefly again, and his breath seemed to hitch, "His name's Inias."

Miss Mills felt she'd asked enough questions. Family was always a tricky topic with these boys, as many resented their parents for sending them to Solomon, and held them responsible for things that had happened before they came here. Some didn't have parents at all, or not ones that they chose to associate with.

"Okay, Castiel, we'll leave it there. Have a nice evening."

"Thank you."

Castiel came back to the dorm to find Dean leaning out of the window, staring out into the distance with a cigarette balanced between two fingers. He shut the door quietly and Dean turned around, cigarette-bearing hand hanging out the window.

"You want one?"

Castiel nodded, dumping his bag on the bed, and Dean tossed him the pack and lighter.

"Where'd you get these?"

"Got a good deal out of McLeod. Also paid off the cleaner not to tattle about the smell."

"And the smoke alarm?" Castiel pointed at the small box on the ceiling.

"Disabled it," Dean grinned.

Castiel snorted, lighting up and taking a long drag, feeling more at home than he had in weeks. He leant back against the wall, shutting his eyes and feeling his pulse quicken. His brain offered up the explanation that that was the effect of nicotine and of carbon monoxide being picked up by his red blood cells, prompting his heart to beat faster to compensate for the drop in oxygen, but Castiel shoved the thought aside, instead enjoying the way the smoke curled on his tongue, drifted out over his lips in wisps.

He looked over at Dean who'd turned back to the window. He looked drawn out, tense, his shoulders set and head hung slightly. Castiel has noticed the dark stains that had gathered under his eyes over the past couple of weeks, how Dean had been going to sleep after him, rising before him. He'd gone on considerably less night time walks, choosing to stay in the dorm even while Sam came in and talked to Cas.

"Are you okay, Dean?"

Dean turned, tossing his burnt out cigarette out of the window.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine," he said with a casual air, brushing off Castiel's question, but not meeting his eyes.

"Dean," Cas repeated more firmly.

Dean's façade fell, and it was as if shadows moved in to fill the space, clinging to the hollows in his face.

"Leave it, Cas."

Cas watched Dean carefully as he sank down on his bed gingerly, something like pain flickering across his face as his back hit the mattress. Something was up. Castiel wasn't stupid, the signs were obvious; Dean wasn't as good at hiding them back in the dorm as he was out in front of the rest of the school. But he wasn't going to push it. Dean was adamant about keeping his privacy, and Castiel didn't blame him.

Cas finished his cigarette and moved to the window, chucking it into the bushes below.

"I have a brother."

Dean looked up, confused. "What?"

"I have a brother. Well, I have two. And a sister. But I have a younger brother, I mean. Like Sam." Dean nodded, and looked at him as though he expected him to keep talking, and, not knowing why exactly, he did. "His name's Inias. He's ten."

And Dean looked like he understood. He understood what made Inias different from the rest of Castiel's family, and how that made Cas different as a result. Because Castiel wasn't like the rest of them, fighting to get out; he was fighting to get back. Attending all his sessions, doing all his work, it was to get back home, back to his brother, even if that meant returning to the rest of his family, too.

Perhaps he and Dean weren't as different as he thought.

A/N: So due to popular demand and the fact that life has swamped me so this fic has been put on hold and I feel really bad, here's the second chapter. Right now my aim is to finish this fic in the summer, so that's not too long, right? I really am sorry, guys (but here's a peace offering anyway)